Once
by Sakusha
Summary: On his birthday, Aya reflects on family. Yes, a Birthday fic for Aya, Happy 4th eveyone!


Disclaimer: Gee, this gets redundant. I bet your expecting a rant about the fact that I don't own Weiss and I make no money off of writing these little fic's and all, but that would just bore the hell out of you so I won't. Yadda yadda yadda.(grin)

* * *

**Once**

* * *

Today is July 4th. It's my birthday. Again I reflect on all the things I once had. Do have.

I remember a family. Kassan, toussan, and my imuto. We had a house. Nothing fancy, but a modest well loved home. Toussan worked very hard, six days a week to provide us with that home, clothes on our back, food, and minor indulgences. He always stressed the importance of hard work, and a good education, though he could not afford to send us to a private school. He came home at the end of each work day exhausted, but he never failed to take the time after his busy day just to see how I was doing, help me with my homework and say goodnight.

I remember the smell of kassan's tea brewing it the kitchen, and the soft hum of her voice as she prepared evening meal. I remember the way she straightened toussan's tie just so, and sent him to work every morning with a kiss in the cheek. She was neither slothful nor frivolous, but would indulge us endlessly if we were only to ask.

There was once a bright little girl, with eyes filled with wonder and mischief. She scribbled crayon in my textbooks. She wore my favorite shirt out in the yard to make mud pies. Once she painted pink flowers on my comforter with finger-paints, 'cause I wanted to make it pretty.' I read her bedtime stories. I dressed her dolls for her when her fingers were too small and chubby to do the buttons for herself. I watched her grow into a beautiful young woman.

I remember a picnic in the park. I think I was twelve. We flew a kite. I put it together with a kit I bought out of my own allowance. Kassan made a tail out of Aya-chan's old clothes. Toussan helped me get it into the air. And we all sat there watching it tossing about on the breeze for hours. That day was a very good day to remember. The amount of a happy family, reduced to nothing more than a few faded memories

I still visit my parents every once in a while. My father would appreciate the head stone. Something inexpensive yet functional. I hope he doesn't know that I never used that scholarship that he helped me with. The ground is weeded and clean, and I bring my mothers favorite flowers, the ones she always put out on the windowsill.

Aya-chan's room is always so cold, white and impersonal. None of the spring colors she loved so much are present. There are no bright-eyed smiles there to great me. She holds her last gift from me in her hand, a reminder of another birthday. I bush her hair and redo her braids even though they haven't been disturbed since the last time I'd been there.

I smell something sweet. Omi is baking a cake. He never fails to make one for each of our birthdays, mission or no. He seems to find birthdays an important event, even if we ourselves do not, and has forcibly made each one of us celebrate at least one birthday in the last year or so. Distantly, I wonder how much of the frosting Ken will eat before Omi gets to icing it.

This is not the traditional family of my youth. We don't hold reputable jobs, and our nighttime activities are filled with death and violence, each of us having our personal demons to keep our minds busy when our bodies are not.

But there is always someone to help with homework. Always someone to run the shop with. Always .We dress each others wounds, even if there are no hushed crooning reminiscent of a mother tending a childhood scrape. We fight over the remote, play pranks, give each other solace and share the occasional meal, _and_ there is always a birthday cake when the calendar tells us that there should be one.

It is not the family I dreamed of as a small child, nor the career I dreamed of as a young man. This is what reality has set upon me and given to me to replace that that I once had.

This is Weiss. White, the absence of color. But perhaps not the absence of family.

Owari

* * *


End file.
